After the Theatre

NADYA ZELENIN had just come back with her
mamma from the theatre where she had seen a
performance of "Yevgeny Onyegin." As
soon as she reached her own room she threw off her
dress, let down her hair, and in her petticoat and
white dressing-jacket hastily sat down to the
table to write a letter like Tatyana's.

"I love you," she wrote, "but
you do not love me, do not love me!"

She wrote it and laughed.

She was only sixteen and did not yet love
anyone. She knew that an officer called Gorny and
a student called Gruzdev loved her, but now after
the opera she wanted to be doubtful of their love.
To be unloved and unhappy--how interesting that
was. There is something beautiful, touching, and
poetical about it when one loves and the other is
indifferent. Onyegin was interesting because he
was not in love at all, and Tatyana was
fascinating because she was so much in love; but
if they had been equally in love with each other
and had been happy, they would perhaps have seemed
dull.

"Leave off declaring that you love
me," Nadya went on writing, thinking of
Gorny. "I cannot believe it. You are very
clever, cultivated, serious, you have immense
talent, and perhaps a brilliant future awaits you,
while I am an uninteresting girl of no importance,
and you know very well that I should be only a
hindrance in your life. It is true that you were
attracted by me and thought you had found your
ideal in me, but that was a mistake, and now you
are asking yourself in despair: 'Why did I meet
that girl?' And only your goodness of heart
prevents you from owning it to yourself. . .
."

Nadya felt sorry for herself, she began to
cry, and went on:

"It is hard for me to leave my mother and
my brother, or I should take a nun's veil and go
whither chance may lead me. And you would be left
free and would love another. Oh, if I were dead!
"

She could not make out what she had written
through her tears; little rainbows were quivering
on the table, on the floor, on the ceiling, as
though she were looking through a prism. She
could not write, she sank back in her easy-chair
and fell to thinking of Gorny.

My God! how interesting, how fascinating men
were! Nadya recalled the fine expression,
ingratiating, guilty, and soft, which came into
the officer's face when one argued about music
with him, and the effort he made to prevent his
voice from betraying his passion. In a society
where cold haughtiness and indifference are
regarded as signs of good breeding and gentlemanly
bearing, one must conceal one's passions. And he
did try to conceal them, but he did not succeed,
and everyone knew very well that he had a
passionate love of music. The endless discussions
about music and the bold criticisms of people who
knew nothing about it kept him always on the
strain; he was frightened, timid, and silent. He
played the piano magnificently, like a
professional pianist, and if he had not been in
the army he would certainly have been a famous
musician.

The tears on her eyes dried. Nadya remembered
that Gorny had declared his love at a Symphony
concert, and again downstairs by the hatstand
where there was a tremendous draught blowing in
all directions.

"I am very glad that you have at last
made the acquaintance of Gruzdev, our student
friend," she went on writing. "He is a
very clever man, and you will be sure to like him.
He came to see us yesterday and stayed till two
o'clock. We were all delighted with him, and I
regretted that you had not come. He said a great
deal that was remarkable."

Nadya laid her arms on the table and leaned
her head on them, and her hair covered the letter.
She recalled that the student, too, loved her, and
that he had as much right to a letter from her as
Gorny. Wouldn't it be better after all to write
to Gruzdev? There was a stir of joy in her bosom
for no reason whatever; at first the joy was
small, and rolled in her bosom like an india-rubber
ball; then it became more massive, bigger,
and rushed like a wave. Nadya forgot Gorny and
Gruzdev; her thoughts were in a tangle and her joy
grew and grew; from her bosom it passed into her
arms and legs, and it seemed as though a light,
cool breeze were breathing on her head and
ruffling her hair. Her shoulders quivered with
subdued laughter, the table and the lamp chimney
shook, too, and tears from her eyes splashed on
the letter. She could not stop laughing, and to
prove to herself that she was not laughing about
nothing she made haste to think of something
funny.

"What a funny poodle," she said,
feeling as though she would choke with laughter.
"What a funny poodle! "

She thought how, after tea the evening before,
Gruzdev had played with Maxim the poodle, and
afterwards had told them about a very intelligent
poodle who had run after a crow in the yard, and
the crow had looked round at him and said:
"Oh, you scamp! "

The poodle, not knowing he had to do with a
learned crow, was fearfully confused and retreated
in perplexity, then began barking. . . .

"No, I had better love Gruzdev,"
Nadya decided, and she tore up the letter to
Gorny.

She fell to thinking of the student, of his
love, of her love; but the thoughts in her head
insisted on flowing in all directions, and she
thought about everything--about her mother, about
the street, about the pencil, about the piano. .
. . She thought of them joyfully, and felt that
everything was good, splendid, and her joy told
her that this was not all, that in a little while
it would be better still. Soon it would be
spring, summer, going with her mother to Gorbiki.
Gorny would come for his furlough, would walk
about the garden with her and make love to her.
Gruzdev would come too. He would play croquet and
skittles with her, and would tell her wonderful
things. She had a passionate longing for the
garden, the darkness, the pure sky, the stars.
Again her shoulders shook with laughter, and it
seemed to her that there was a scent of wormwood
in the room and that a twig was tapping at the
window.

She went to her bed, sat down, and not knowing
what to do with the immense joy which filled her
with yearning, she looked at the holy image
hanging at the back of her bed, and said: